


By Any Other Name

by Jinxed_Ink



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, canon-typical warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxed_Ink/pseuds/Jinxed_Ink
Summary: “Why do Akelion wear their arms bare?” Laurent asks on one of the nights Damen spends in his tent tutoring him. He’s as tightly laced as ever and he sits with his customary careless grace, but he’s tired, on the edge of falling asleep at his desk. It is apparent, in the curves of his eyes, the slant of his mouth, the way his golden hair falls on his forehead, the locks slightly tumbled.It would not have been apparent to Damen, a few weeks ago. They are coming to learn each other, and that is pleasing, though he knows it shouldn’t be.“It is the sign of an unclouded mind and an open heart, to display our loves and emnities to the world.”“That,” Laurent tilts a delicately shaped eyebrow, “is a very Akelion way of viewing things.”A soulmate AU where you have the name of your soulmate on one wrist and the name of your greatest enemy on the other, but there is no way of telling which is which.





	By Any Other Name

Damen is born with his brother’s name on one wrist and the name of some Veretian prince on the other. 

Kastor’s soulmate is someone named Pollux, also a brother of Damen’s, one not yet born, and Damen is a little jealous, sometimes, a little disappointed that it’s not his name on Kastor’s wrist, that Kastor’s not destined to love him above all others, but the rest of the time, it doesn’t matter much. Because, even if they’re not a matched pair, he and Kastor share their greatest enemy, like the shield-brothers of songs, and that is even better.

It takes young prince Laurent of Vere _ages_ to be born, and then he’s a baby for a long time after that, and for all that Damen’s sure that he must be a particularly dastardly baby, he is no use for vanquishing at all. 

Laurent of Vere, full-grown, is a larger-than-life figure in Damen’s mind, a villain from an epic: a brilliant swordsman, cunning and calculating as a snake, a leader of men. It will take him and Kastor all their might to best him in battle, all their intelligence to see past his tricks, and they will triumph in only after their darkest hour, when the battle seems already lost. 

But this will not be for years yet, and in the meantime, Damen is impatient to meet this soulmate of Kastor’s, this unborn brother of his. He hopes they will be close in age, that they will grow entwined like closely-planted trees, that Pollux will bear Laurent of Vere's name on one wrist and Damen’s on the other, a perfect cycle. 

It is not until he mentions this in front of his parents, and sees his father pale, and Hypermnestra’s face shutter in grief, that he learns of Kastor’s twin brother, born almost in the same breath as him and dead three days later, the names on his wrists still too small to be deciphered.

***

Years later, after his father dies and he’s thrown in shackles, Damen spends his first days in Vere in a state of torment and confusion. The grief from his soulmate’s betrayal bites deep, a bitter reminder that Damen will never mean as much to Kastor as Kastor means to him.

And the crown prince, Laurent, the man strong enough to be both his _and_ Kastor’s greatest enemy, is nothing but a spoiled wretch, unworthy even of treacherous Vere’s throne. Unworthy, were Damen a free man, of a second glance, regardless of his pretty face and shapely thighs.

And still, in the heat and the steam of the baths, Damen is fool enough to attempt to take him in his arms.

***

“Why do Akelion wear their arms bare?” Laurent asks on one of the nights Damen spends in his tent tutoring him. He’s as tightly laced as ever and he sits with his customary careless grace, but he’s tired, on the edge of falling asleep at his desk. It is apparent, in the curves of his eyes, the slant of his mouth, the way his golden hair falls on his forehead, the locks slightly tumbled.

It would not have been apparent to Damen, a few weeks ago. They are coming to learn each other, and that is pleasing, though he knows it shouldn’t be.

“It is the sign of an unclouded mind and an open heart, to display our loves and emnities to the world.”

“That,” Laurent tilts a delicately shaped eyebrow, “is a very Akelion way of viewing things.”

He does not say it like it’s a compliment, but neither does it sound like an insult. 

Well. Not more than anything else Laurent says, in any case.

“Some would say that letting anyone who wishes you harm know exactly whom to strike and what ally to pick to do so most effectively is foolish at best and courting disaster at worst,” he goes on.

“Is that why Veretian hide theirs?” Damen asks. In Arles, even the pets, with their flowing silks and decadent airs had kept their wrists well-hidden, be it by sleeves or jewels or paint. “Practical concerns?”

Laurent smiles, a little rueful, like it was startled out of him. The way he always does when Damen’s being perceptive. “No. Or at least, only in part. We believe that it is mankind’s lot to have hate and love be so closely intertwined that it is a trial to tell them apart. Showing the names to someone else is the greatest act of trust a person can do.”

Damen’s mind flashes, unbidden, to that day in the baths, to Laurent’s complete nakedness, to the flash of Auguste’s name on his wrist as he raised his arm to strike. To Damen’s own name, glistening red as heartblood on Laurent’s pale, wet skin.

***

At Ravenel, he takes Laurent’s hands in his, and fancies he feels the scrape of Auguste’s name against his fingers.

The skin of Laurent’s other wrist is silk-smooth. 

It is a night for secrets and self-deception, and Damen swallows down his guilt and kisses him again.

The next morning, he has one cuff removed, but keeps the one covering Laurent’s name.

***

In Karthas, the golden cuff blocks Auguste’s name from view, from touch, but Damen finds his mind straying to it all the same. It is wrong to hope that it is the remnant of a destiny cut short, like Kastor’s twin, that Auguste’s love for Laurent would have soured, had he lived. Damen does not hope this.

But the alternative is too awful to contemplate. 

Laurent catches him looking. “If I told you not to concern yourself with it, would you listen to me?”

Damen doesn’t answer, but his thoughts must’ve shown on this face, because Laurent’s lips curve. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” he says, but it is fond, and he’s still smiling.

“I would never mean you harm.” 

“You can’t be certain of that,” Laurent says, “You don’t know how the world will pit us against each other.”

“It doesn’t matter. The world has already pitted us against each other, let it try again. I will never hurt you.” 

There’s something unfamiliar and vulnerable in Laurent’s lovely face. It looks like hope. “I don’t want to think about the future,” he says softly, fingertips at Damen’s cheekbone, “not yet.” 

He kisses Damen on the mouth, and Damen lets him. Lets himself be distracted.

***

Damen wakes in his father’s old bedroom in Ios, a low dull ache in his ribs. It hurts less than it did the other times Damen woke, and he is alone in the room, not crowded in by medics and courtiers.

Alone, that is, except for Laurent.

He is sitting gracefully next to the bed, back in his blue Veretian clothes, lines around his mouth and eyes that speak of exhaustion. There is quivering tension to his stillness, and his sleeves are unlaced to the elbows, shirt pushed up and out of the way.

He is no longer wearing the golden cuff. His fingers are tracing the curves of Auguste’s name, well-practiced and precise, though his eyes are on Damen’s face. 

Damen opens his mouth to speak. He does not yet know what he will say. 

“My father and my uncle were close, when they were younger,” Laurent says, and Damen clamps his lips shut.

“Auguste was named after him.”

It feels as though all the air in Damen’s lungs leaves him, all at once. He fears he knows where this is going. Laurent’s eyes are fixed on his, with the same burning, painful intensity he displayed in Karthas, when he pushed himself past all the wrongs between them.

“My uncle had my name on his wrist, the way I have his. We were matched. And even after he discarded me, I thought he must be my soulmate, when the only other alternative was you.” 

Damen makes an abortive gesture. He wants to take Laurent’s hand in his, and offer comfort, but he does not know how it will be received, does not know if it will be any help at all.

Laurent catches his fingers in his, and brings them against his own wrist. His skin is dry and warm. _Auguste Valois III_ , it reads on his wrist. On the final numeral of the three, Damen can feel the subtlest change of texture under his fingers. “When I was seventeen, I altered his name so it would become Auguste’s,” Laurent goes on. “I didn’t do a very good job. It is easy to tell the difference. But I could not bear to have his mark on me.”

Damen had not been able to tell the difference. 

He’s been so blind.

Laurent is still talking. “I’m sorry. So many weapons in my uncle’s arsenal I could’ve dismantled simply by talking to you, but I was a coward. I could not bear to see how you would look at me, with the truth of it between us.”

Damen makes a wounded noise, like Kastor’s blade is piercing him anew. He grabs Laurent’s hand and brings him to his lips, though the motion jostles his injured side. “If I could kill that man again, I would,” he says, mouth pressed against Laurent’s palm. “You have done no wrong, and have nothing to apologize for.” 

He feels Laurent’s tension mount, and crest, and ebb. His fingers curl into Damen’s. “I would like to wear the cuff again,” he says, “if you want me to.” 

“Yes, Laurent, always,” Damen says, and he’s tripping over his words, and trembling. “I have your name, on the other wrist,” he confesses. He does not want secrets left unspoken between them.

“Yes, I had deduced as much,” Laurent's words are dry, but the light in his eyes belies the tone. Lips curving, he adds: “deception is not your strong suit.”

“Thankfully, it is yours,” Damen says. “When we unite the kingdoms, you can worry about politics for the both of us.”

“Oh?” Laurent arches an eyebrow. He pushes a curl of Damen’s hair behind his ear. “And what will you do, then?”

“Go around killing things at your say-so,” Damen answers, “obviously.”

“Obviously,” Laurent echoes, bending his lips to his. There is an interlude of kissing, sweet and closed-mouthed. Kissing for kissing’s sake, for the closeness it brings. 

“Laurent,” Damen says, when they break apart. “I was thinking I might have the blacksmiths switch which wrist I wear the cuff on. If you would like that.”

Laurent raises his head, surprised. “You know what?” he says. His eyes are bright. “I think I would.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr [here](https://thestoriesthatweweave.tumblr.com/post/171936950736/covertius-fic-turtletotem-can-you-imagine).


End file.
